A Touch of Slytherin Ambition
by NotWhoYouThinkThisIs
Summary: The moment she stepped foot on Hogwarts ground, Minnie McGonagall was determined to be the best. And so she was... but sometimes, that can be a very lonely prospect. NOT MGxAD!


**Author's Note:**

**Tequila:** well... halloo there:D

**Justin:** And welcome to a tiny slice of Minerva McGonagall's soul...

**Tequila:** enjoy!!!

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, we are not the best. JKR is, and she owns Harry Potter (and Minnie McGonagall). Grrr...

A Touch of Slytherin Ambition

Minerva McGonagall had always believed in magic. How could you grow up in Scotland—in Wyvis Lodge, no less—and not hear about the kelpies, the Danann, the Fae and the Sidhe and the Seelighe? How could you live where she did and not notice the little lights flickering in the bogs at night?

How could you not believe in magic when… _things_ happened whenever you got upset?

So when Minnie got her letter, that wonderful, wonderful letter, she wasn't that surprised. Excited? Yes. Nervous? Yes. Surprised? No.

And when she arrived at the castle—tall and glowing and looking like she always imagined Cinderella's castle would be—she was so excited she could almost burst. But then, in the little room where they were told to get ready, this boy comes up and looks her over and sees that her robes don't quite fit, because she's not used to them, and opens his mouth and says, "You're a Muggle, aren't you?" and he says it like a disease.

And Minerva already knows what _that_ means, because she read all the books before coming, and so she just looks him straight in the eye and says, "Obviously not, if I'm here."

And he just sneers and mutters something about muddy blood and Minnie doesn't know that one, but from the way people around her are muttering, it's not a nice word. And right then, right there, she decides she's going to be the best witch there ever was. _Ever._ And she's going to show him and everyone else who ever thought she couldn't do it, and she's going to find something and be the _best_ at it, and who'll be laughing then?

She will, that's who.

And she gets Sorted into Gryffindor, and she ends up sitting next to this rather intimidating looking witch—a fifth or sixth year, for sure—who looks quite scary at first but turns out to be rather nice. And Camilla Gamp explains all about Slytherin and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and Minnie's glad she was Sorted into the _best_ House because she plans to be the best.

And so when her first Transfiguration class comes and it's _interesting_ and exactly how she always imagined magic would be and she's good at it, really naturally good at it, she can turn her match mostly into a needle—it's shiny, and sharp, and just a bit cool to the touch by the end of the Minnie decides that she will be the best at Transfiguration. And she will, she will she will she will.

Professor Dumbledore notices how driven she is, and how hard she studies and how desperate she can be to succeed. She'll take extra credit, she'll stay late. Her essays are inches longer than they need to be, her practical exams are always superb. She tutors other students (little Tommy Riddle, Verity Macmillan, Dennis Archer) and does private research and towards the beginning of her seventh year, she comes to Professor Dumbledore and tells him she wants to become an Animagus.

And he sits her down, and looks her in the eye, and offers her a lemon drop. She takes one.

"Miss McGonagall, you inform me you wish to become an Animagus."

"Yes, Professor."

"My dear, if I may ask, why?"

Minerva blinked. "Because. I want to be the best."

The Professor sighed. "Minerva—may I call you Minerva?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I know I seem like an old fogey to a young lady of sixteen, but it was not long ago that I too, was your age, and I too, was a Gryffindor…"

"I know, Professor."

"It is, I am afraid, our cardinal fault, arrogance; arrogance and pride." He sighed. Minnie shifted uneasily in her chair. Professors weren't supposed to, to… _talk_ to you, like this. And if anyone had a right to be arrogant, surely it was Professor Dumbledore, right? His twelve uses of dragon's blood were in _every_ magical history book, he was a sure pick for the new Headmaster when Professor Dippet retired in a few years, and he was a gifted teacher—everyone said so.

And then, the Professor just looked at her, looked hard and long, and it felt like he could read her soul… and then he nodded. "Yes, Minerva."

"Yes?"

"If you truly wish to do this thing, I am not going to stand in your way. There will be a lot of work involved, of course."

"I know, Professor. Thank you, Professor."

"Yes… come back to me when you've finished the preliminary preparation stage; it is always best to have someone present when you first attempt a transformation."

Minerva nodded fervently. She was going to be the _best_.

And it wasn't easy, and it wasn't always fun and sometimes it was bloody _boring_ but she did it. She did it she did it she did it.

And now she was the best. Undisputed. One of only two Animagi alive. The best. And she worked in the Ministry for a while. And that was nice—she was the best there, of course.

And then she did some freelance work, because anyone with her skills could get a job anywhere, so long as it was temporary. And she was still the best.

And by the time that got boring (so many things got boring, god, so quickly) Dumbledore was Headmaster and Hogwarts needed a new Transfiguration Professor, and Minerva snapped up the chance.

And it was nice… being back… being there. And sometimes the children in her classes are bored and just marking time until they get to Potions or Arithmancy or Charms or whatever it is that drives them, and Minerva can accept that. And sometimes she gets the ones that try and try and try but never really do well, and she understands that too. But sometimes there's the fire in their eyes and in their heart and they _waste _it.

And that breaks her heart. But teaching was the only work she could ever imagine doing, now.

And then, in one first year Transfiguration class—the real basics—there was a boy. A Potter (she'd heard of the family), and he looked like trouble (and she'd later learn he _was _trouble) but when he took a wand in his hand, it _flowed_.

And he had the fire too, and he _used_ it—he wanted to be an Auror. He worked at it—not much, not as much as she had. He didn't have that drive, that _need_ to be the best, but that was alright. And he passed every exam, and he smiled and laughed and enjoyed himself. James Potter _knew_ Transfiguration in his bones.

And Minnie knew she shouldn't, but she got a little attached: such a fascinating boy, so gifted. And she wasn't going to be soppy or foolish about it, but she watched him perhaps a little more carefully than the others. She watched him grow, and fall in love and marry and join the Order.

And when he had to go into hiding with his wife (and Lily, oh Lily had the same fire, not for Transfiguration, but Minnie saw that drive and respected it) she worried.

And when Albus contacted her, and told her to go to Number Four Privet Drive, because Lily and James Potter were dead, Minerva couldn't believe it.

And when Hagrid showed up, with the little baby boy, now an orphan, she still couldn't believe the little boy who'd laughed so joyously in her classes, the teenage boy who'd cheeked her during detention, the young man who'd smiled so brightly at his wedding, was gone.

And she was still the best, but that didn't seem to matter anymore, not so much.

Because, in the end, being the best is only the best when you have someone to share it with.


End file.
